Catboy (9 page)

I bent down, grabbed a rock and skipped it toward him, trying not to hit him. He ran off, giving me a threatening glare before he too disappeared.

“You shouldn't throw rocks at the cats!” the man exclaimed.

“Maybe you shouldn't be throwing poisoned meat at them!” I yelled back.

“Poisoned meat?” he said. “What are you—?”

“Get out of here, now!” I ordered. I picked up two more rocks. “Or else!”

My mother rushed forward. “How about if everybody calms down!” she said. She didn't sound very calm.

“Yes, let's be reasonable,” the man said.

“Reasonable people don't poison innocent cats!” I said.

“We weren't poisoning them!” he said.

“Honestly, we were helping them!” the older woman said.

“Helping them into those cages? You all should be ashamed of yourselves!” I called out.

“Son, we weren't doing anything wrong,” he said.

“I'm not your son. I'm going to get the security guard and get him to call the police and have you all arrested!”

“Please don't call anybody,” the man pleaded.

“If you're not doing anything wrong, then why don't you want me to call the police?” I asked.

My mother nodded in agreement.

The man let out a sigh. “We're not harming the cats, but we also don't have permission to be here. Technically, we're trespassing.”

“Well, we
do
have permission to be here,” I said.

“We came in through a hole in the fence,” the younger woman said. She sounded guilty.

“Then since you know how to come in through the hole, you know how to go
out
through the hole before I call the police. Understand?” I asked.

“Look, let me explain. My name is Curtis. Curtis Reynolds.
Doctor
Reynolds. I'm a veterinarian,” the man said.

“You're a vet?” I asked.

“I am.”

“How do we know you really are a vet?” my mother asked. That was a good question. “I could say I was the Queen of Toronto, but that doesn't make it true.”

“Here, I have some business cards.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out the cards, handing one to me and the other to my mother. In raised letters it said:
Dr. Reynolds, DVM, Small Animals and Emergency
Medicine.
He
was
a vet.

“So you have a card. That only means you have a computer and a printer,” my mother said.

Another good point I hadn't thought of. “Even if you are a vet, that doesn't explain what you're doing here,” I said.

“What we're doing is trying to help,” Dr. Reynolds said. “This is Doris.” He gestured to the older woman. “And this is Sarah. We were trying to help the cats.”

“And how do those traps help the cats?” I asked.

“If a cat is badly injured or needs medical treatment, we trap it so Dr. Reynolds can treat it,” Doris said. “When they're well enough, we bring them back.”

“The food you were giving them wasn't poisoned?” I asked.

“Of course not!” Sarah said. “What sort of evil person would do that to a living creature?”

“There is something in the food,” Dr. Reynolds said. “We put antibiotics and medications into the food to inoculate the cats.”

“So you really are trying to help them,” I said.

“We're members of the Feral Cat Association of Toronto,” Dr. Reynolds explained.

“Or F-Cat for short,” Sarah said.

“It's a group of people who work together to try to help wild cats, feral cats,” Doris said.

“There are a few dozen of us,” Sarah added. “Some people make donations, others donate time to help feed them.”

“Or treat them,” Doris said. “Like Dr. Reynolds.”

It all sounded good, but I was still suspicious. “I've never seen anybody here before,” I said.

“We've never been here before. We just found out about this colony a few weeks ago. This is the first time we could get here. There are hundreds of feral cat colonies in the city.”

“That's hard to believe,” my mother said.

“Most people find it hard to believe,” Doris said. “Before I got involved, I had no idea there could possibly be so many.”

“But where are they all?” I asked. “It's not like there are hundreds of junkyards.”

“Often they live in industrial sites like this, but also in abandoned houses and under bridges,” Sarah said.

“We also find them in fields, ravines and public spaces like parks,” Dr. Reynolds added. “Both the Scarborough Bluffs and the Leslie Street Spit are home to two very large colonies. Cats are perfect animals to create feral colonies.”

“Yes,” Doris said, “they multiply quickly and they're very social. So they like to live in groups.”

“Plus, they are mobile, independent by nature, can catch or scrounge for food and, really, are only semi-domesticated even when they live with people,” Dr. Reynolds said.

“Nobody really owns a cat,” I said. Since Mr. Singh had first said that, I'd come to believe it.

“I'm glad you think that way,” Dr. Reynolds said. “So many people think that feral cats are lost house cats that only need a little affection and a scratch behind their ears.”

“With some of them, it would be a great way to lose a finger,” I said.

“But not all of them,” Doris said. “Some are just a few months away from being house cats and can be very gentle.”

“And others are very savage,” Dr. Reynolds said. “How many cats do you think are in this colony?”

“I know of forty-three cats and some kittens,” I said.

“Are you sure of those numbers?” Dr. Reynolds asked. “It's difficult to distinguish individuals and get an accurate count of the residents.”

“I'm completely sure,” I said. “I know them, cat by cat.”

“My son spends a lot of time here,” my mother said. “He really cares for these cats.”

“We thought somebody had taken an interest in them,” Doris said. “These cats are in excellent shape.”

“You'll notice the traps are empty,” Dr. Reynolds said. “These cats are healthy. Thick fur, well fed, perhaps a little bit too well fed. That one tabby is
enormous
!”

“That's King,” I said.

“You've named them?” Dr. Reynolds asked.

“Not all of them. Just the most important ones,” I said.

“And he's called King because he's the dominant tomcat, right?” Dr. Reynolds asked.

“Him and another cat,” I said.

“There's another cat as big as him?” Dr. Reynolds questioned.

“He's not that big. He's sort of long and athletic,” I said. “Does that sound strange, to call a cat athletic?”

“Not strange at all. All cats are athletes,” Dr. Reynolds said.

“But this one is even more than the others. He can really jump, and he's a great hunter. He's always catching things,” I said.

“Does he ever fight King for dominance?” Dr. Reynolds asked.

“I've never seen Hunter and King fight. They know the other is there, but Hunter stays out of King's way.”

“That's probably smart. King didn't look like he was going to back down from you,” he said.

“I know. That's why I had to toss the rock. I wasn't trying to hit him, just scare him away.”

“You never get too close to him, do you?” my mother asked.

“Not close enough to scratch him behind the ears,” I said.

“It's not
you
scratching
him
that I'm afraid of,” she said.

“Well, if he does, he's received most of his inoculations today from the pills we put in the food he gobbled down.”

“That's reassuring,” my mother said, although her words and tone of voice didn't match.

As we were talking, some of the cats had returned, tempted by the food still on the ground.

“Let's move a little farther away,” I said.

“We should get going,” Dr. Reynolds said. “These cats are fine, and we should leave before the security guard finds us.”

“It's okay if he does. As long as I tell him you're okay, then you'll be fine.”

“That's nice to hear. Most of the property owners don't like us. They see us as encouraging something they don't want to have in the first place,” Dr. Reynolds said.

“As long as you tell Mr. Singh you're a friend of Taylor—that's me—then you'll be welcome here.”

“That's great. Most owners don't think of feral cats as any better than an infestation of rats,” Dr. Reynolds said.

“Mr. Singh isn't the owner. He's the head security guard.”

“Well, it's good to have somebody on our side,” Dr. Reynolds said. “But we should be going anyway. We want to get to another colony today.” He looked around. “Now if we can just find our way out.”

“I can show you. If you point me in the direction you came from, I'll know which hole you came through,” I said.

All three of them pointed in different directions.

“I guess we got a little turned around,” Dr. Reynolds said.

“No problem. I'll show you all the holes in the fence until we find the one you came through.”

“Thanks, we appreciate your help, and the help you're giving these cats,” Dr. Reynolds said.

He held out his hand. I slipped his business card into my pocket and shook his hand. It was good to know I wasn't alone.

Fifteen

I sat as still as possible, not moving my eyes and trying to control my breathing so my chest didn't go up or down. I'd found the longer I sat still, the more comfortable the cats became with me. It was as if they'd forgetten I was there. I became another hunk of junk in the yard. Or, I liked to imagine, one of them. I even started having cat-like thoughts as I sat motionless.

Over the weeks the cats had let me get closer and closer. Now some of them even let me get close enough to give them a scratch behind the ears. That Doris woman had been right about some of the cats being gentle. I'd learned which ones I could risk doing that with. Not that I was going to tell my mother.

The best way to get close to them was to wait and be patient. I always let them approach me. I never approached them. It was mainly the teenager cats and the kittens, but a couple of the older cats, including Miss Mittens, allowed me to stroke them on the back too. Some of them even brushed against my leg or stood on their hind legs to meet my hand halfway.

I wasn't sure what Dr. Reynolds would have thought, but I knew my mother would not approve. Mr. Singh had seen me patting the cats, as had Simon, and the other guys and Jaime. They were a little jealous because the cats wouldn't let any of them get close, not even the cats they'd named.

Alexander, of course, called his cat Kot. Jaime named the Burmese and the Siamese cats Minx and Ming. The Himalayan cat was named Sherpa by Rupinder, in honor of the guides who take climbers up Mount Everest, the highest mountain in the world. Mohammad named a calico cat Pizza, because that was his favorite food, and the Abyssinian Cleopatra, because she reminded him of a carving on a pyramid. And finally, Devon named an orange tabby Marley, after Bob Marley.

They may have named some of the cats, but I invested the most time and energy at the colony. Simon spent more time there than anybody else except me, but he had trouble sitting still or staying quiet long enough to allow the cats to approach. He was a great guy, but patience wasn't one of his virtues.

Sitting off to the side was King. He was keeping an eye on me but pretending not to. I didn't think he was worried about me as much as he wanted to know if I had any food. His interest in me was strictly related to the food I brought. He didn't seem to want or need human contact. In fact, he didn't even seem interested in the other cats.

After Dr. Reynolds had questioned the relationship between King and Hunter, I'd noticed that King never fought with Hunter. Of course Hunter wasn't nearly as big, but he had a way about him that left little doubt he could handle himself. King was a bully, and bullies didn't usually pick on somebody who could actually fight back. Not that Hunter would win a fight with King. King was big and seemed to be getting bigger due to all the extra food I'd been bringing to the colony. So Hunter gave King his space and King gave Hunter his space.

I heard the sound of pounding feet, lots of them, loud and fast. I spun around in time to see two dogs run into the clearing. One was big and the other bigger. The big one looked like some sort of Rottweiler and German shepherd cross. The other just looked mean. One of its ears was up and the other looked as if it had been torn off. The two of them almost merged into one gigantic, eight-legged mass of black, brown and white fur. They raced into the clearing, slowing slightly and then racing straight toward us. Before I could react, or even think to react, they charged the cats. There was a scramble as cats and kittens scattered into the shelter of the wrecks. The dogs raced through, turning and twisting, trying to catch all the cats but not being able to focus on any of them.

One of the dogs grabbed a kitten, throwing it up into the air. The kitten hit the ground, rolling and tumbling, and the dogs chased after it as it raced away for its life.

A black blur came shooting out of nowhere. It was Hunter, and he landed on the back of the larger dog. The dog howled as Hunter dug in his claws, hanging on to the dog, riding him like a horse. The dog jumped and leaped and roared, desperate to shake Hunter loose. He reached back, tried to grab Hunter with his teeth, but the cat struck him in the face and the dog howled again. The dog tripped and rolled over, and Hunter leaped off, landing against one of the wrecked cars.

Before Hunter could scramble to his feet, the second dog came forward and charged toward him. Hunter crouched, puffed out his fur, hissed and snarled. The dog stopped in his tracks. The first dog, blood dripping down its side, flanked the second. Together the dogs growled and inched forward. Why wasn't Hunter running away? Why wasn't he trying to escape? He couldn't fight both of them.